Locking in the Sleeper Hold
by Mattycollns13
Summary: Sequel to Childish Show and Triple Threat Match. Wanda is having trouble adjusting to New York with her sleep schedule. She needs a distraction until she exhausts herself and falls asleep. Who can possibly help her? Clint Barton, that's who.


Wanda peered through the darkness of her room. She watched her fan swing lazily above her. She shut her eyes tight as another pulse of thoughts hit her subconscious. She pulled the edges of her pillow over her ears, knowing that it would do no good given that the thoughts were from the people of New York were in fact only thoughts and not auditory. This was the part of her powers that she hated.

This was the second apartment that she had rented in the city. The first one was a regular apartment that was near Avenger's Tower so that her commute to and from would not be arduous. It had been awful; her mind pulled at the thoughts and emotions of the nearby people and this huge city, nothing like Sokovia, was proving to be too much for her to ignore. This apartment, a penthouse near the top of the New York skyline, was not proving to be any better at nullifying the many thoughts of the people of the city that never sleeps.

When she had been in the castle, gaining her powers, there were not many men there that would bother her. Sure, when first getting used to her abilities there was an adjustment period, but it was nothing too severe and she soon was able to ignore the thoughts of others and get back to her usual sleep schedule. When she and Pietro had left Hydra behind to go back to Novigrad, it was the same as before: a slight adjustment period before she was able to go to sleep again. Now in New York, even though she was very happy with her current position in the Avengers and new friends she had made, the no sleeping was beginning to grate on her. She had only been able to sleep a couple times in the last two months, and that was only because she passed out from exhaustion.

She finally groaned and sat up, her hand pulling through her tangled hair. She needed to go do something. She pulled her phone out to look at the time. It read 12:30 am. Tony would still be up, but most likely on an invention bender. Plus, she got enough Stark time during her day job. Natasha would be up, but probably doing something badass or secret. Wanda tilted her head to the side. She didn't exactly know what the Black Widow did for fun, they weren't that close. Rhodey was out of town, and Falcon was visiting his mother in D.C. Steve, grandpa that he is, would be asleep. Vision would be up, but his worldview and general otherworldliness could only be dealt with at a reasonable hour and with a well-rested mind. That left one man, and Wanda couldn't say that she minded who it was. Clint would be at home and still awake at this hour. And even if he wasn't awake, she didn't mind waking him up.

She began to ponder how it had come to this in her life as she began to pull on regular clothes, including her telltale jacket. Clint and her had continued to grow closer over the months that followed Ultron. At first she thought it was over guilt for her brother's death, which she held no animosity towards him for, but it became clear soon. While that had been his intention he had grown fond of her as a person, and she definitely felt the same. He was funny, self-deprecating, and caring. He was not a replacement for Pietro because, no one ever would be, but he was the only Avenger she considered to be a part of her new family.

She made it outside and hid her shiver at the rainy New York night. She pulled the hood of her sweater over her head and waited for a taxi to come along. After about ten minutes when it was clear the taxi service was out to spite her, she began the long walk over to Clint's Bed-Stuy apartment. It was several blocks away and at this late hour she would probably have to stop at least three muggings along the way, but it would be a nice distraction and hopefully tire her out. Speaking of which, this would be the first time she had confessed to anyone that she couldn't sleep and she didn't even know how to explain it to someone who didn't have her powers. Hopefully Clint wouldn't ask too many questions and just allow her to distract herself until she passed out.

When she had gotten to his building her legs ached from the long walk, but the night air had done wonders to clear her head. Even though she could still feel the thoughts of New York buzzing around her, having the stimuli of walking and magiking thugs that tried to mug her had given her something to tune them out with. She headed up the flights of stairs that had become familiar to her on her days off when she came over to hang out with Clint and Lucky, his dog. Wanda felt a warm smile as she pictured Clint's dog that was absolutely in love with her. She had always wanted a dog when she was younger. Pietro and her both had wanted one. Her smile turned into a frown at the thoughts of her brother. She could think his name without feeling pain, after weeks of feeling like she couldn't move when she thought of him. But she still felt the gnawing guilt that she had things that Pietro would never have the chance to have. Like a dog, or the Avengers, or even life itself. She looked up to see that she had come to a halt in front of his familiar door. Without giving herself a chance to second guess her actions or if Clint might be asleep she knocked.

She heard a thump and a small, soft bark from Lucky, and then quiet feet pattering on the hardwood floor of the kitchen. The door swung open to reveal the always-injured Clint, with his ever-present Band-Aids on his face and arms. His hair was sticking up in a thousand different directions, his eyes looked droopy and he had a drool trail on the right side of his mouth. Wanda would have found it adorable and tried to smooth out his hair if she didn't feel guilty about waking him up at 1:30 in the morning.

"Whoozit?" He mumbled out drowsily. "If you are here for an evil scheme can it wait until I get enough sleep to appreciate my own doom, or whatever it is you bad guys say?"

"Hey, Clint…" Wanda put her hands behind her back and twisted them together anxiously. He seemed to recognize her finally and tilted his head at her.

"Hey, kid. What are you doing here? It's freaking late. Isn't your bedtime like nine anyway?" His lazy smile appeared as he stepped away from the door and let her in. She passed the threshold and bent down to greet the enthusiastic Lucky whom was barely containing his excitement.

"I'm not a kid, grandpa." She shot back only slightly sour, but she attributed that to the lack of sleep. "I was wondering if I could sleep here? Or maybe just hang out?" She asked nervously.

He again tilted his head examining her. Clint was a goof, and made dumb life choices sometimes, but he wasn't stupid. Even if he sometimes tried to fool you that he was. "You have a bad dream?" Wanda shook her head. It was a good guess on his part, she had recurring nightmares about Pietro dying when she first came back with the Avengers and Clint would find her late at night in the common area staring into a bowl of Froot Loops. "Then what happened, kid?"

Instead of snapping at him for the stupid nickname, as was her first inclination, she fought it off and took a deep steadying breath. "I have trouble sleeping in the city."

Clint furrowed his brow, "What like the cars and shit?" Wanda winced and shook her head.

"No, the thoughts… the city never does sleep…" Clint sighed and rubbed his tired eyes for a moment.

"This is a power thing, right? Sorry, I'm still kinda out of it." Wanda nodded her head and he sighed. "Damn, that means I can't really do anything to help…"

Wanda fought off a smile. If there was one thing that she could say she liked about Clint above all else, it was his desire to help and his frustration at himself when he couldn't. "I usually have to just wait for exhaustion. And I figured I could try to distract myself with something here while I wait." She took a nervous breath in before glancing at him shyly. "That is, if you are okay with that."

He gave her a small smile, his hand coming back to rub the hair on the back of his head. "Yeah, sure. Anything you need," he said and pointed her over to the couch. She strode over and tossed her jacket away before falling on the couch like a sack of potatoes. Clint huffed out a laugh before looking her over. "How the hell are you gonna fall asleep in jeans and a shirt? That can't be comfortable."

"I slept in these kind of things on the streets, I will be fine," She defended, "plus, I do not plan on sleeping. I am here to help me become exhausted enough to sleep." Clint hummed as if that answer didn't satisfy him. His furrowed brow soon lifted to his hairline and a smile appeared on his face as he raced back towards his room. He was back, not five seconds later, holding a large faded bulls eye T-shirt and purple sweatpants. He threw them at her and pointed to his bathroom.

"Go change. You ain't on the streets anymore, kid. And the second rule about casa Barton is that sweatpants are always preferred over anything else." She just stared up at him challengingly, but knew that she was too tired to fight him on this.

"What is the first rule?" she objected weakly.

"First rule of casa Barton is we don't talk about casa Barton." He said with a smug grin. She rolled her eyes at him.

"You are not funny. I have seen that movie." He pouted at her for only a moment before he pointed to the bathroom again.

She sighed, "Purple is not my color…" but she nevertheless got up and made her way to the bathroom to change, smiling at his small puff of laughter towards her jab at his favorite color.

She was surprised when she came out of the bathroom, wearing his shirt like a dress and his sweatpants rolled up as much as they could be, which is weird since he wasn't THAT tall, to find Clint still sitting on the couch, flipping through channels on the television. He smiled at her and patted the seat next to him. She dropped down once again and sighed. He looked at her smiling like he knew something she didn't. That didn't bode well for her did it?

"You look ridiculous," he said before she shoved him over with her shoulder. He laughed and pointed to the TV. She furrowed her brow at what she saw. There was a square fighting ring with ropes around it. Fans of whatever this was were in mid scream. She looked back at Clint and raised an eyebrow. He just shrugged and pointed to it. "It helps me when I can't sleep. There's no better distraction. Plus I've been watching these wrestling shows for weeks trying to get inspiration on your codename."

She rolled her eyes, "I do not need a codename, Clint." He just raised an eyebrow at her. She blushed because she kinda did want a codename. He pressed play on the remote and she turned to the TV as the lights in the arena went out. Violins began to play and a Japanese man came out dressed in a shade of red really similar to her own. He was acting strangely and dancing toward the ring.

"That's Shinsuke Nakamura. They call him the King of Strong Style. See, codenames make everything better." She rolled her eyes, but watched with some interest as the man bent backwards and slid to his knees as the crowd went nuts. The music soon faded out to be replaced by an annoying rock and roll voice yelling into the microphone. A man with red hair and aviator glasses came through the entryway and went smiling all the way down to the ring. He already annoyed Wanda. Clint snorted, "Poor Heath Slater. He's gonna get the shit kicked out of him."

Wanda looked at him strangely, "We did not get to see this when we were little, but I thought it was fake?" He nodded and shrugged his shoulders.

"The storylines are crafted and they pick who will win, but all the kicks and punches and the falling through ladders and tables, those are all real. Though on some of the punches and kicks, they don't go all out. They have to protect their bodies somehow," he glanced at Wanda. "I know its kind of a younger person's thing, but I enjoy it. It's mindless; it lulls you in with the lights and music, and the spectacle. It's just nice, you know? Thought it might help drown out the thoughts of the city. Give you something else to focus on." He was blushing, and Wanda felt that warm feeling bubbling up again. It seemed to happen around Clint the most these days, and it took everything for her not to push him further on his kindness to her. She knew if she tried to thank him it would embarrass him and he would be completely self-deprecating, so she went with the safe option.

"I get it, and because you are being so nice, I'll let that slip up of 'young person's thing' go. Wouldn't want anyone to realize how ancient you are." Clint's eyes comically widened and he groaned as Wanda fought off a laugh. Unsuccessfully. Banter they could do, and with the added bonus of him being smart enough to realize that the thank you was implied.

"Oh my god, I really did say that didn't I? Fuck, I'm old." She laughed and patted his leg.

"Self realization is the first step." He scoffed at her and ruffled her hair. She let a smile bloom fully onto her face and sank back into the couch. As she watched the fight break out on the television she was mesmerized by the moves, and how hard Shinsuke Nakamura was kicking. She felt bad for the Heath Slater guy. She heard the announcers speaking of something that was trivial to the plot of the story going on in the ring, but she heard the term 'Crimson Dragon' in regards to Heath Slater. She looked to Clint for clarification.

"It's his codename thing. The tag on the front of his name." She nodded, and liked the way that the double name sounded in her head. It reminded her of Black Widow in a way. A color and an animal. That wouldn't fit her though. Maybe something else. She mumbled to Clint, her eyes starting to get droopy, "I like the color thing…" And among the lights, the crowd, and Clint's steady breathing, her head met his shoulder and Wanda Maximoff was asleep.

She awoke many hours later; she was lying on the couch, covered in a blanket. The television was still on, playing a different wrestling program, and she could hear Clint in the kitchen. She sat up slowly and stretched, her back cracking in all the right places. She hadn't felt this rested in months. She wrapped the blanket around herself and made her way into the kitchen. Clint smiled at her and passed her a plate of eggs and bacon. "It's two o'clock, but breakfast never has an end time, kid." She smiled at him and began to dig in to his, admittedly, delicious eggs. He glanced at her, "So no thoughts woke you up?"

She shook her head; "Either that wrestling thing is enough to shut them out in my mind, because I can focus on the… spectacle. Or it just bores me into sleep." He smiled at his plan having been a success in helping her sleep, no matter which reason it was. He moved over to the coffee maker and grabbed the half full coffee pot and poured it into a mug, hopefully meant for her.

"So I thought about your codename more after you fell asleep. Since the last thing you incoherently mumbled at me was about the color thing, I decided to stick with that." She looked at him curiously as he slid her coffee over to her. "What do you think of the Scarlet Witch?"

She gave him an answer, a small smile before the mug of coffee covered it. And if she spent most nights on his couch with a wrestling program on, so she could sleep without the thoughts of the New York populace assaulting her, and not because she liked the company of her best friend, mentor, and surrogate family, or the fact that his stupid show had grown on her, then that was just between the two of them.


End file.
